


A Life for a Life

by CedanyTheBold



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Grief, Healing, Reconciliation, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedanyTheBold/pseuds/CedanyTheBold
Summary: A twist of fate leaves Miguel stuck in the Land of the Dead. Imelda and Hector both blame themselves for his misfortune, and through their grief decide to reconcile their relationship, if not for their sake, then for his.Meanwhile, in the Land of the Living, the family continues to search for Miguel despite Mama Coco's insistent protests that he is with her Papa, who is taking good care of him.





	A Life for a Life

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I feel compelled to undo every happy ending ever. I just do.

“You have our blessing, Miguel. No conditions.”

Imelda all but shoved the petal into Miguel’s chest, but as fate would have it, a sudden gust of wind blew it from her fingers just before he vanished, sending it tumbling through the air in the dim light of pre-dawn.

“No,” she said, frantically searching for another petal, but there were none to be found. “No!”

“Mama Imelda…” Miguel whimpered in a frail voice. “ _Por favor…ayudame_ …” He reached out a hand to her and she barely managed to catch him before he collapsed, unconscious and…

And not breathing.

_Dios_ , she thought. She had killed her grandson, and all because of some stupid, petty, century-old grudge. All the times Héctor had approached her, and she refused to listen. It wasn’t his fault. He had been trying to come home…

Her gaze shifted from the unconscious Miguel to the space where she had expected Héctor to disappear. But he was still there, with his eyes closed, not moving. Strangely enough, he had stopped glowing.

All Imelda could do was kneel there, with her dead great-great-grandson’s head resting in her lap, shaking her head in disbelief.

And then she screamed.

The rest of the family, who had been hanging back to give her and Héctor some space, recoiled even further at the sound. It was unlike anything any of them had ever heard—an almost inhuman, jarring, anguished _wail_ that said everything Imelda could not put into words. After a moment, they cautiously approached her, half afraid that she would regain her composure and unleash her fierce temper on them.

But she made no response when Rosita knelt beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders, nor when Julio removed his hat in respect. Oscar and Felipe knelt between Imelda, still holding Miguel, and Héctor, clearly not knowing what to do. Unsurprisingly, it was Victoria who finally spoke, calmly and sensibly, “We need to get them out of here.”

“ _Sí_ ,” Imelda agreed, so quietly that they almost didn’t hear her. “We have to take them home with us,” she said. “Where is Pepita?”

Victoria was about to say that Pepita was waiting right behind her when Héctor jolted upright and gasped as if coming up from deep water. The twins immediately moved to help him up, but remained sitting when it was clear that he was still too weak to stand.

“What happened?” he gasped. “Am I still…Oh,” he exclaimed in a whisper when he saw Imelda holding the now completely skeletal Miguel. “Oh, no.” he said, his voice breaking. Slowly he shuffled over towards the rest of the group, waving off the twins’ help, and sat beside Miguel. “Hey,” he urged softly, gently shaking his arm. “Wake up, chamaco. Miguel, please wake up.”

To no one’s surprise, Miguel did not respond.

Héctor’s next plea was to Imelda. His gaze shifted to meet hers, only to find that she was still staring morosely down at the boy in her arms. “Imelda,” he said, startling her into meeting his eyes. “This is all my fault. Just—please take him home with you. I don’t want to take him back to _Los Olvidades_ —that’s no place for an innocent kid to spend the rest of his time in.”

“You’re coming with us,” she said, matter-of-factly, but kindly. There was no hint of anger, no insult. “When he wakes up, I think I know exactly who he’s going to want to talk to.”

“The man who killed him,” Héctor said, looking down at Miguel’s skeletal face. The markings covering it stood out the most of anyone’s here, huge swirls of blue and red and green. Bold, just like him. One’s facial markings were a reflection of who they were in life, and Héctor instantly hated himself for taking such a colorful personality from the world so early. He was no better than Ernesto.

“No,” Imelda corrected him. “His friend. You spent the most time with him; you got to know him better than any of us. And he doesn’t know you’re still here. I’m sure you’re going to be the first person he asks for.”

“What about his living family? His parents?” Héctor queried frantically. “Oh God, Imelda, I killed a kid…I killed a _kid_ …” He shook his head in disbelief, mirroring Imelda’s actions of moments earlier. He couldn’t imagine the pain Miguel’s parents would be in when they realized their son was never coming back. He remembered once when Coco had been sick with fever as a baby, and the doctor said that he didn’t know whether or not she would live. The mere thought that his little girl _might_ die had been enough to break his heart. He and Imelda had spent days and nights at her bedside, praying that she be given a chance to live. And here Miguel was, actually _dead_ , and as far as he knew, physically gone from the land of the living. His family wouldn’t even have a body to bury. Oh, _God_ , what had he done?

Imelda’s stern, no nonsense voice came back then, and stopped Héctor’s thought process in its tracks. “Héctor,” she said firmly. “Stop. Your worrying won’t do him any good. We need to get him home, and you’re coming with us. No arguments.”

“Yes, Imelda,” he said, as if he were a child being scolded.

The family clambered onto Pepita’s back, Imelda and Victoria supporting the still-weak Héctor, and the twins, Julio, and Rosita hanging onto Miguel’s unconscious body for dear life. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before they reached home, which, Héctor noted, looked remarkably like the one he’d left nearly a hundred years ago, down to the little rose garden Imelda had started when they were first married. He wondered if its counterpart in the land of the living had grown or been replaced by something else entirely.

Dismounting proved to be a problem as he ended up stretched lengthwise across the alebrije’s flank, Victoria lowering him into Imelda’s waiting arms and instructing, “ _Ten cuidado_ —don’t drop him!”

“I won’t,” Imelda huffed. “He was light as a feather when he was alive, and he certainly hasn’t put on any weight!” She managed a small smile at the memory of him joking, when she accidentally lifted him off the floor once when they were dancing, that perhaps _she_ should have carried _him_ over the threshold. “Oscar,” she instructed, pointing to the far side of the yard. “Bring me that wheelbarrow.” He did, and together they settled Héctor into it. He was still too tired to protest, but when they brought him into a bedroom to rest, he began pleading, as if delirious, “No, I want to see Miguel. I want to be there when he wakes up. I need to apologize to him.”

“We’ll come and get you when he does,” Imelda assured him.

“But we’re not sure you’re out of the woods yet,” Oscar finished for her.

_Who cares_ , thought Héctor. In the back of his mind, he kept repeating, _I killed him, I’m a murderer_ …he truly thought he deserved the Final Death now.

The thought kept rattling around in his mind until he finally fell into a restless sleep.

*******************

The next day, Imelda came to visit him.

“Is Miguel awake yet?” was the first thing he asked.

“No, but—I just thought you might like to talk. About what’s going to happen now.”

“Well, Imelda,” Héctor growled, sitting back on the pillows and crossing his arms. “I have a kid’s _death_ on my conscience—how about we start there?”

“It’s not your fault,” Imelda said. “You were trying to help him get back. I’m the one who placed all those conditions on his return. I’m the one who made the entire family forget you. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize it was _my_ fault Miguel got into this mess in the first place!”

Héctor straightened up and toyed with a throw pillow. He shouldn’t have been so terse; he really did want to make amends. “Do we have to fight?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

Imelda sighed. “All right. I suppose I should tell you. Maybe we both led him here, but I think…I think what happened was fate. When I tried to send him back, a gust of wind came out of nowhere and blew the petal right out of my hand. Héctor, I think it was just…his time.”

“He’s _twelve_ ,” Héctor argued. “There’s no way he was supposed to die that young.”

“It happens,” she said. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t seen children younger than he is running around.”

“I used to,” he remembered. “When I first got here. But not recently. There aren’t many kids coming here anymore.” He carefully shifted his weight and sat up to face her. “So why _him_?”

"I don’t know,” Imelda shook her head. “But for now, at least, he’s stuck here. All we can do is make him comfortable.”

“Imelda…” He inched closer to the end of the bed. “I’ve been thinking too. About why I’m still here. I’ve lived in _Los Olvidades_ for a long time, and I’ve seen my fair share of Final Deaths. But I’ve never seen anybody come back from the brink. Ever.”

“What are you saying?”

“Whatever kept him here kept _me_ here too. His life was traded for mine—what’s left of it, anyway. And now there’s no fixing it. Even if I end up going, that’s no guarantee he’ll come back to life.”

“You mean you thought about…” Imelda didn’t even want to say it. It was possible to induce the Final Death, but no method was quick or painless. She couldn’t bear to think of Hector doing that.

“Yeah,” he admitted, grasping his arm as he often did when he was nervous. Imelda didn’t seem to react either way. “When I was still coming back. But then I realized it wouldn’t do any good, and if—if he _is_ stuck here for good, I want to make sure he’s okay. I don’t want to fail him like I did you and Coco.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” She hadn’t meant for it to come off as cold as it did. Better yet, she shouldn’t have said it at all. She should have told him that he didn’t fail them. It was her fault—again—for jumping to conclusions.

There was a knock on the door and Rosita poked her head in.

“Miguel woke up,” she informed them. “He wants to see Héctor.”


End file.
